Archangel Protocol

Human beings were fu

While some technology raced ahead, like wetware, pockets of low tech survived all over. As a species, we tended not to clean up after ourselves. When we redesigned the LINK, we left vestiges of the old system to haunt the hard lines like cobwebs.

The war machine fueled most of the dramatic changes in tech. Wetware was invented so that we could have soldiers who could receive electronic commands sent from headquarters to the battlefield. The war had started in the Middle East over the shrinking oil resources, so in order to win, America finally implemented the electric-vehicle plans it had kicking around since the last oil crisis. Of course, once the Medusa bomb got dropped, scientific advancement ground to a halt – except, of course, in the area of entertainment. If there was a way to make a holo-vid more virtually realistic, then the tech appeared overnight, only to be replaced by something better the next day.

I shivered and pulled my arms closer around my chest. Despite the draftiness, there was a certain comfort in the way the wind howled around the gables of the old building. Reaching along the wall, my fingers searched for the thermostat. When I found the ancient contraption, I lightly touched the wheel in the direction of warmer. Not that it did much good in this rickety place. I smiled and shook my head. Moving away from the window, I felt for the coffeemaker in the dark. I fumbled along the side of the smooth plastic until my fingers found the switch and flicked it on. The orange brewing light glowed. I waited for the telltale gurgling sounds before I headed back to my desk.

With any luck, the information-retrieval programs would have turned up something on Jordan Institute by now. Scootching the chair closer to the monitor, I peered at the message: "No matches found."

"Nothing?" I muttered out loud. I looked at my romance novel. I might be a sensualist and Neanderthal in my attitudes toward the printed word, but at least paper-and-ink information could not be altered. The LINK refreshed its information stream so often that archiving became unmanageable. There were companies that tried to save information, but, because of sheer volume, they were forced to narrow their fields of interest. Most of yesterday's news vanished into the ether.

I tried to recall details of the case. Blurred faces floated in from the back acres of my mind. The sysop, I remembered well: she was a ski

The Jordan Institute's carpet had smelled new. The whole complex was part of one of those business-incubator buildings designed to accommodate rapid growth – or sudden collapse, as I suspected in this case. The product information that had been stolen had something to do with the treatment of mental patients. The sysop had said it was "revolutionary," but every new tech got that label these days.

There was nothing about the tech theft that had struck me as out of the ordinary. "Damn," I muttered. "If only I had access to my case notes."

When I was on a case, my LINK co

As a cop, Michael had access to them. I could have him get a hard copy of them for me. A knot twitched in my stomach. Michael would be here in a couple of hours. The wail of a distant siren mingled with rolling thunder, and rain continued its steady barrage against the windowpane.

As much as I wanted it, I was crazy to agree to the re-LINK. For the right price, I could buy an external LINK on the black market, but as an ex-cop I had a certain number of strikes against me. First, despite everything, I still walked the walk. No illegal marketeer would come within ten feet of someone who could be a tech-vice cop in disguise. That was the other problem. I already had a reputation among the wireheads, and it wasn't the kind that got me an invitation to tea on a Sunday afternoon, much less a co

The biggest deterrent to getting a new co

God only knew where on earth Michael would dig up a bioengineer to do the reco

My only hope was that Michael was part of some underground organization with co

Thunder clapped outside and rattled the window. I stood up and stretched. Despite its loud clanking, the radiator hadn't kicked in yet. It was still cold in here. After I'd poured myself a cup of coffee, I returned to my desk. Though the coffee was smooth and rich, my stomach fluttered.

When the phone rang, I was startled out of my reverie.

"Damn." I flipped the receiver on and clicked it over to video. "McMa

"McMa

I smiled politely. It was my old pal Sergeant Dorshak. "Talk?" I laughed. "You avoided me like the plague."

"You were obviously busy."

"Yeah, yeah," I pursed my lips. "What can I do for you, Dorshak?"

"No. It's what I can do for you, Deidre." He pointed at the video.

"This ought to be interesting." I smiled tightly. I set my cup down and stared intently at Dorshak's grizzled face. "So, what is this altruistic favor, Ted?"

"Angelucci. He's trouble. I hope you're not even vaguely considering working with that guy."

"I'm not," I lied. "You know I stay away from police business. Besides, I've already heard this tune from the captain."

His eyes narrowed, and he stared intently at my video image. Dream on, Ted, I told him silently, the LINK won't help you over the phone. You need face-to-face contact to read an elevated heart rate. "Right," he finally said. "Well, I'm glad you're not, because people here think he might be co

"Jewish community," I repeated, with a smirk. "I see you've been taking those sensitivity courses to heart. Last I heard you talk about the Malachim, the nicest thing you could call any of them was 'heathen.' "

"Yeah, well." He shrugged. Tugging at his collar, he added, "Promise me you'll stay away from Angelucci."

"Already done." I smiled. He looked unconvinced, so I added in what I hoped was a genuine tone. "Ted, seriously, do you think I want to deal with all that crap again? I'm already excommunicated. You think I'm going to risk losing anything more?"